


love will happen when it wants

by koroshiyas (lucitae)



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, M/M, Mentions of Death, POV Second Person, implied unrequited jinpil, lapslock, pov switching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:02:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23586571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucitae/pseuds/koroshiyas
Summary: one way or another, wonpil and brian end up living under the same roof after a rainy day.
Relationships: Kang Younghyun | Young K/Kim Wonpil
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [landfill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/landfill/gifts).



> for my love,  
> for the past two years,  
> i hope this brings a smile to your lips.
> 
> this fic is a mix of wolf in the house and kimi wa petto. everyone is roughly early 30s.
> 
> this is my first fic in a long while. the characterizations are iffy at best i am so sorry.

the tiles by the entrance are cold and hard. your legs have long turned numb from kneeling, far too weak to support your weight. all your possessions fit into a sole duffel bag. your guitar case lies beside it. the stickers have begun to peel, edges frayed and yellowed from the places they've been. you wonder if he’ll miss it propped up near the wall next to the shoe cabinet when you leave.

that thought alone has you compromised.

the phone call last night has brought you to this moment.  
and yet still unable to prompt you to take a single step beyond the foyer.

your shoes are five steps away from you.

he stands between you and the door.

the shirt you ironed last week looks crumpled after a day of work. shoulders slumped, face weary. you almost part your lips to ask if professor cho chewed him out again. did he manage to have lunch or was it two bites before his pager called? did he end up stuck in a ten hour long surgery where the only thing he was allowed to do was suture at the very end?

but when you meet his eyes and notice the way they seem to cloud over — flitting between you and your baggage — all questions melt away like snow.

“command me to stay, wonpil,” you say. both hands in your lap. you clutch them a little tighter to stop them from trembling but your voice gives you away.

“it’s a special trait of canines,” lips curling into a semblance of a smile you don’t feel, praying he doesn’t see past your facade, “if you command us to stay we won’t leave your side until the day we die.”

“wonpil-ah,” you try again. he flinches from being brought back out of his thoughts. “you’re close enough to me. if you ask me to stay i won’t leave.”

or rather: it has to be wonpil. there’s no one else you would voluntarily bind yourself to.

under different circumstances, wonpil probably would just jokingly say something along the lines of you sound like _you’re asking me to be your mate_ and laughed. you would have laughed along, afraid of altering this dynamic that both of you have slipped comfortably into. but—

wonpil falls to his knees. the leather briefcase that jinyoung bought him for his birthday to congratulate him on graduating from medical school lands with a thud. his arms wrap around your neck and pulls you into an embrace you wouldn’t mind suffocating in.

“no,” he says, voice muffled by how his lips are buried against your shoulder, diminished by the sweater. the way his voice quavers tears your chest apart. you reach out to pat his back, facial muscles ready to contort into the act of a smile when he says: “i can’t shackle you to me.”

but that’s what you want.  
how very twisted of you.  
how sly.

you reach up to pat his head, the way he does for you when you rest your head in his lap and he sifts through research articles his professors assigned him to read. those afternoons where the sun filters in through the window panes, bathing you in its warm light as a hand mindlessly sifts through your fur are no more.

the mere thought of that almost makes you cry.

he pulls away.

and before you realize it, your thumb collects the tear that has made it halfway down his cheek.

“i can’t do that to your family.” his voice is stern. you know wonpil is thinking of his grandmother.

“won’t you get lonely without me?” you try as a last attempt. his hands are still on your shoulder. a weight which you wish you would never be relieved from. but the world isn’t so kind and hearts are often not aligned.

so what can you do but let go?  
especially when he says: “i was fine before i met you, wasn’t i?”

his lips are curled into a bright smile, eyes turned to half moons so you can’t read if he’s being honest or not.

he cried for you. and that’s more than enough.  
( more than you deserve. )

you lean forward — forehead touching sternum — just to say: “thank you for allowing me to remain by your side for such a long time.”

( you can’t help but wonder if things would have turned out differently if you were just a dog. you’re sure it would be. you could stay by wonpil’s side and watch him fall in love, play with his children, and grow old together.

but in the end you are neither man nor wolf. these walls can no longer shelter you. you have no where else to run. )

you collect your things and turn when you are halfway through the door.

“i hope you will only experience happiness from now on, wonpil.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a super unbeta'd mess

when bad luck comes it pours or however that saying goes. monsoon season means that a measly umbrella is insufficient to ward off dampness. the route from the bus stop to his apartment feels like half an hour instead of ten minutes — pants and shoes soaked through. wonpil has been awake for the past two days, sneaking in 30 minute naps only if he’s lucky, pager ringing freely through the night is the life of a resident. dead tired doesn’t even cover it. he’s merely looking forward to a hot shower, the omlette rice from the convenient store, and his warm bed.

lost in thought he trips over... sneakers? or rather sneakers attached to a human body.

the orange glow of the street lights overhead barely illuminates the figure, flickering in a way that tells wonpil’s instincts to make a run for it.

but the skies are hellbent on drowning this concrete city and wonpil took an oath upon entering medical school. so he shifts his umbrella — catching it between his neck and shoulder — before crouching to inspect the human.

the temporary shelter made from a flimsy piece of cardboard is now wet mulch. the man clutches a guitar case close to his chest as he groans. wonpil’s brows furrow, almost certain this man is barely conscious. _hypothermia? hypoglycemia? blackout drunk?_ are the initial differentials until he notices the busted lip. fingers reach for his carotid. the pulse is strong and steady but the skin cool to touch.

“hey,” wonpil says, patting the man’s shoulder aggressively until he opens his eyes. “i’m a doctor. kim wonpil, a resident of severence hospital,” wonpil introduces, “let’s get you out of here before you die from the cold, all right?”

there’s a nod. or rather the man’s head falls forward and barely has the strength to lift it back up. 

wonpil shifts his weight and offers his shoulder for support. the man takes it.

it feels like an eternity before he is able to punch his code into his door. both of them are drenched. wonpil somehow manages to kick off his shoes and slip off the stranger’s before dragging him into the living room.

( he can already hear jinyoung’s voice nagging in his head about what a bad idea this is. )

but first things first.

wonpil taps the man’s shoulders again, emergency room training kicking in. “can you tell me your name?”

a pause before “brian.”

“can you tell me where we are right now?”

brian takes a look around wonpil’s place as he leans against the shoe cabinet for support. “i’m assuming your apartment.”

“and the day of the week?”

“wednesday.”

wonpil offers a smile. “i’m going to take off your shirt so you don’t catch a cold and check for any wounds. is that okay with you?”

brian’s lips curl, wry, as he says: “do you often take strangers home and strip them?”

wonpil can feel the heat creeping in his cheeks as brian shrugs off his shirt with wonpil’s help. “no,” he answers, “but finding a dead body tomorrow morning would weigh on my soul.”

brian quiets after that even when wonpil inspects or palpates or wraps him in a bundle of clean blankets. the occasional wincing followed by a bout of embarrassment when wonpil picks up stomach gurgling ( from hunger ) via stethoscope. wonpil merely chuckles after hanging his stethoscope around his neck, the way he does on wards. at first he was going to keep brian fasting just in case of internal injuries. a scan would be nice but this isn’t the hospital. after his initial assessment he’s fairly certain it’s a fractured rib.

“no,” brian says sternly as he shoves a spoonful of the omurice wonpil has been looking forward to into his mouth. “it’s just a fractured rib. i don’t see the need to go to the hospital.”

he seems to be doing better after a hot shower and with food in his stomach, wonpil assesses as he slurps on his ramen.

“it’s not _just_ a fractured rib. the initial impact had to be hard enough to fracture it in the first place. what if it lacerated an organ?” wonpil finds himself nagging. “i refuse to be a negligent physician.”

“it’s fine,” brian insists. “the patient refuses treatment so it won’t be your fault.”

wonpil just sighs. tomorrow is his day off in a long while. he had planned on using it to catch up on sleep but—

he glares at the stranger he only knows the name of. he can’t help but imagine the worst. too many patients have been wheeled into the emergency room seemingly fine and deteriorated rapidly. wonpil clenches his chopsticks tightly in his hands. if there’s something he can do he’d rather not sit around and wait.

( _it’s not your fault_ , jinyoung had said, pulling wonpil aside after he announced the date of death on a young girl after an acute exacerbation of asthma.  
_but it is_. wonpil didn’t dare voice those thoughts aloud. merely gripped jinyoung’s white coat in his hands and he soaked jinyoung’s shirt with his tears.  
next few days sleepless as he combed through treatment plans for asthma. jinyoung was right. he did the best he could in those circumstances. but they weren’t _enough_. )

( _you’ll go through life experiencing all sorts of loss_ , a senior two grades above him once said when wonpil was just an intern.  
wonpil still can’t get used to it. )

“no,” wonpil says, firm. “if you’re afraid of the cost i’ll cover it.”

brian quiets. sets the spoon down before saying: “why are you going so far for a stranger?”

and he’s right. it’s not just because of his profession or the oath he once took. it’s just...

his grandmother’s weathered and smiling face surfaces in his mind. wonpil smiles and simply says: “it doesn’t hurt to put forth a little kindness into this world, does it?”

there’s a soft chuckle that escapes from the lips of the stranger that seemed to be on the verge of death just a few hours ago. wonpil lifts his head. their eyes meet. brian’s smile is filled with life that reaches his eyes. and honestly, that’s enough for wonpil to justify his actions.

wonpil wakes up to the scent of scrambled eggs. it reminds him of the breakfasts he tried to cook for grandma way back when. except he burnt the toast and grandma didn’t really have a stomach for western dishes. breakfast to her was rice and side dishes not orange juice and bacon. wonpil smiles at the thought as he leaves his room.

he does a double take.

there’s a stranger making use of his kitchen.

his sleep deprived brain slowly catches up when it remembers yesterday’s dreary evening. wonpil clears his throat. “um, brian...?”

brian whips his head around with a smile so disarming that if wonpil wasn’t subjected to his best friend’s smiles for the better half of his life, he probably would have stumbled.

“yes?”

“you’re a guest in my house, you don’t need to cook,” wonpil remarks as he rubs his neck in embarrassment.

brian merely shrugs. “it’s the least i could do. it’s nothing fancy either.” he gestures at the bowls of rice and single dish of kimchi grandma had sent a week ago. “i would have made an omlette but your fridge is lacking.” the tone is light, not accusatory but still wonpil feels a little exposed. he doesn’t spend much time at home after all. food would just get spoiled. his cooking skills are so nonexistent that pre-made convenient store meals are his go to.

“i hope it’s to your liking,” brian says as he slides the eggs into a plate and places it in front of wonpil. the steam that wafts from it makes wonpil smile. how long has it been since he sat down for a home cooked meal? it’s funny how touching this simple plate of eggs is.

“thank you,” wonpil says, sincerely. followed by: “it’s delicious.”

which only makes brian laugh because “it’s just eggs. you should thank me if it’s steak or something fancier.”

wonpil smiles anyway.

“sorry for troubling you and thank you for allowing me to stay here,” brian says as he bows deeply. he’s already wearing his clothes from last night after they were washed and dried. the borrowed ones neatly folded into a pile in the laundry basket.

wonpil blinks. dressed and ready to drag brian to the nearest hospital or clinic to ease his mind. _does this man hate physicians this much?_ wonpil can’t help but wonder. but it’s not like he can force brian to go. so he relents with a “do you have any place to go?”

“nope.”

wonpil’s eyes widen. the word that comes from brian’s lips a huge contrast to the smile displayed on his face.

“then... what are you going to do?”

“it’s easy to find a place to crash if you aren’t too picky about it.”

“absolutely not.” wonpil doesn’t know why the palms of his hands come into contact with the table with such fervor but he presses on: “you’re a patient.” chopsticks jabbing in the direction of the area of broken ribs. “this entire week is forecasted to be full of rainstorms as bad as last night. what if you end up dying under a heap of cardboard boxes again?”

brian blinks.

wonpil runs a hand through is hair, frustrated. grandma taught him better and “i’m not so heartless to throw someone out.”

“because it’ll weigh on your conscious?” again with that light teasing tone of his.

“exactly,” wonpil snaps. “besides i’m not home often. it shouldn’t inconvenience you too much. you can stay until you are completely healed or you find a place to live.”

( _what an odd man_ , brian finds himself thinking. this is his house. the inconvenience is clearly brian. )

“then in exchange for staying here how about i take care of household chores?”

wonpil looks at brian as if an angel has descended before he flushes and breaks eye contact. “if it’s not too much... you really don’t have to...”

“i insist.”

days pass idly, but not unwelcome, in this new arrangement of theirs. wonpil now has a habit of texting brian the days he’ll be home to prevent brian from staying up again. last time jinyoung dropped him off around three in the morning and brian was curled up on the sofa, legs tucked near his checked, dozing off as he waited for wonpil. the ingredients for fried rice laid out on the kitchen counter, ready to be stir fried at a moment’s notice. wonpil felt guilty. not sure why someone would go to such lengths for someone as unimportant as him. so he apologized profusely the way he does to his professors as brian merely said “welcome home.” those two words magically dissipating the tightness in his chest.

( some days wonpil doesn’t know who is the one getting saved. )

the apartment is kept neat and tidy. there’s always food in the fridge for those late nights. on the occasion they do have the opportunity to sit down for a meal wonpil is able to both vent about work and also talk about things that have nothing to do with work. it’s suffocating sometimes when your life revolves around medicine. the only social topics all are about the same thing. either that or family life and flaunting pictures of your children. it’s just nice, once in a while, to have a chat with a friend. they don’t pry into each other’s lives, don’t divulge anything until they are willing to share, and accept anything that is spoken without second thought.

 _it’s comfortable_ , wonpil thinks as he finds himself sinking into the sofa, hands wrapped around a warm cup of tea brian had prepared for the both of them as some movie brian picked starts playing on screen.

he wakes up to a blanket covering him. brian sleeping on the floor. not changing this sofa into the bed ( jinyoung’s brilliant idea of investing a sofa bed for the occasional guest that crashes ) nor does he sneak into wonpil’s room to take over his bed. wonpil smiles and reflects on how frightening human adaptability is.

wonpil comes home one day to find a large dog lounging near the balcony door. he had a half day today. the early afternoon sun is perfect for a lazy nap, which seems to be what the dog had in mind by exposing its belly so defenselessly to the warm rays of the sun. wonpil wonders if brian had brought it home, taking pity on it.

wonpil ventures closer. fur looks clean ( and soft ). a pretty brown and white coat and a fluffy tail ( that looks soft ). ears that perk up like triangles and a chest full of ( soft ) white fur. it reminds wonpil of the unnamed ones that would roam his neighborhood when he was little. the ones he decided to name in his head while offering them food or whatever he could get his hands on. it’s probably that memory that causes him to reach out and run his fingers through the soft fur.

the dog’s eyes snap wide open before it seems to realize that wonpil was the one who had touched him. wonpil draws his hand back before proffering it for the canine to scent. a wet nose tickles the center of wonpil’s palm, drawing out a chuckle from his lips.

“did brian bring you home?” wonpil asks, his free hand wrapping around his knees as he stays close to the ground.

this dog seems intelligent. usually he’s met with blank stares or 2 seconds of attention before they return to their task at hand. but this one seems to nod.

must be his imagination.

“sorry for scaring you,” wonpil says, “but you’re so big and fluffy do you mind if i pet you?”

the dog lies on its stomach and rests his head on the floor in a _do what you want_ kind of fashion that has wonpil chuckling.

and the afternoon passes by like that: wonpil running his fingers through the dog’s fur in one hand as he sorts through the charts from this morning. occasionally, glancing at the clock and wondering when brian will be home. it’s unlike him to be gone this long but wonpil isn’t one to pry. his stomach, on the other hand, has a mind of its own and grumbles, startling the canine.

the dog lifts his head from where he was resting on wonpil’s lap a moment ago and rises on all fours. it must be the setting sun and the red the sky is tinted with that makes this dog look a bit bigger — eyes glinting with a color kin to rubies. wonpil reaches out, wondering what’s wrong when the dog dashes towards his room.

wonpil follows him quickly.

the dog burrows under his blankets and wonpil is about to pull them off when he feels some resistance.

brian’s face pokes out from under the covers, hands firmly gripping the blankets that he has bundled himself with. but from the naked shoulder that slips out, wonpil may very well imagine why he had ducked under the covers like this.

he’s also certain that there was nothing under his covers before the dog arrived. and brian isn’t one to take advantage of his bed just because wonpil is not home. which means...

wonpil laughs because it’s impossible.

“sorry for startling you. i overslept but then you got hungry and i felt bad that you weren’t having dinner — despite coming home early — because of me so i,” brian fumbles to explain.

“did you see the big dog?” wonpil asks instead, disappointed that his afternoon companion has disappeared. they were right about how soothing pets can be.

“wolf,” brian says.

“huh?” wonpil’s confusion slipping out as he stops looking around his room and looks at brian’s.

“it wasn’t a dog. it was a wolf.”

wonpil doesn’t know what expression he is wearing right now. also no wolves are that docile.

“wonpil,” brian says, tone apologetic, “that wolf was me.”

if there was something in wonpil’s hands he probably would have dropped it.

“so...” wonpil tries, mind running at a hundred miles per hour. he notes the way his voice trembles. this is surreal. “you’re a werewolf?”

because saying out loud definitely makes it make sense.

( it does not. )

“well...” brian looks sheepish as he scratches his cheek, “if that’s the easiest way for you to accept it. we’ve been called many things in the past. shapeshifters. beast-kin. werewolves.”

“and what do you prefer?”

wonpil doesn’t expect his line of playing along to be met with genuine relief. as if all this time brian was just waiting for one person to come along and ask this.

“the children of sirius.”

wonpil mouths it and makes a note to ask brian of the origin at a later date. but for now: “show me.”

“please,” wonpil asks.

brian looks at him confused. “you want to see me transition?” in the same tone someone would reserve for _aren’t you afraid of me?_

“please,” wonpil repeats.

“fine,” brian says, but it isn’t reluctant.

the blanket is cast to the side as brian steps before wonpil. the light behind him making a silhouette out of his figure. and all wonpil can focus on are the eyes that glint like crimson gemstones as the owner sinks to his knees as if a prayer. what takes his place is the beautiful wolf from this afternoon.

wonpil crouches and wraps his arms around brian, pulling his wolf form into an embrace and whispering “thank you” into his ear.

he lets go and walks out, allowing brian to have some privacy to change back.

what remains etched into his mind’s eye, even when brian exits his room in wonpil’s casual wear, is that scene of transition. a forlorn look as if his humanity was being chipped away. a silent plea for wonpil not to run when limbs contort and bones crackle underneath the thin layer of skin. the fur that protrudes and elongates, covering every inch of his body. fangs, snout, claws that causes hair to stand on the nape of his neck — instincts telling him to run before it’s too late. but wonpil has never been one to listen to instinct. and so like a moth drawn to a flame or the way curiosity rules over the nine lives of a cat, wonpil only inches closer.

“are you going to help with dinner?” brian asks, smile easy. but wonpil can still detect the traces of fear that lurk beneath his eyes that have returned to their familiar shade of brown. it reminds him of patient’s in gowns, trying to mask their uneasiness because their family flocks around their bed before they are wheeled off for surgery. but for brian, wonpil assumes, it is less of a fear of complications and death and more of rejection.

“we’ll be able to eat sooner with my help,” wonpil replies.

curiosity lingers. probably amplified by the silence as wonpil washes the rice he was tasked to. he clears his throat before he asks: “is being a child of sirius why you heal so quickly?” fractured ribs take, on average, six weeks to heal completely. brian seems to have recovered in half the time.

“yeah,” brian nods.

“and why your metabolism is so high?”

in which brian visibly pales and wonpil has to quickly explain “i’m not judging you for how much you eat or trying to limit you just curious!”

brian’s lips twist into a smirk as he responds: “you’re not going to trap me here as a research subject if i pique your interest, right?”

wonpil coughs to mask his embarrassment. “is that the type of person i seem like to you?”

brian shakes his head. the is “no” that falls from his lips is gentle.

which reminds wonpil... “were you injured in your wolf form?” either way violence is bad but to be abused in one form seems morally worse than the other. his hands shake in anger from the thought. he’s seen a lot of terrible things. unnatural burn patterns on infants, bruises on children’s bodies that date to different times, women who come in too afraid to explain what had happened. asking doesn’t change what has happened. there are only two paths forward: prevention and support. they aren’t close. this is the closest wonpil has come to prying. but even so, wonpil still wants to extend a hand to this man he has started to consider a friend.

brian merely smiles. “what matters is that it is completely healed.” he doles the stir fried vegetables onto two plates and carries them to the dining table.

“so i shouldn’t extend my stay any longer,” he says. the plates greet the table with a _clink_. there’s a sense of finality to it. wonpil frowns.

“you’re more honest in your wolf form,” wonpil remarks, thinking of the lazy thuds of a fluffy tail against the floor that echoes through a tranquil afternoon.

“you’ve only met me for one afternoon.”

“i’ve known you for a month, brian.” wonpil lifts his head to hold brian’s gaze.

( _you need this as much as i do_ remains buried in this throat. )

“if i chase a friend out then my surname isn’t kim.”

something in brian’s expression softens.

“you just want a free maid service,” he quips, slipping back into his normal state.

“you’re more useful than that,” wonpil clicks his tongue. “a butler? no...” purposefully acting out a state of deep thought when enlightenment hits: “a personal aide.”

the laugh that is elicited from brian sets wonpil at ease. but just in case, wonpil says: “it’s not much but you’re welcome to stay until the day you want to leave.”

there’s a moment of silence that blankets the household. wonpil decides to escape it by shoveling a mouthful of vegetables into his mouth. when he looks up, he’s surprised by brian’s expression.

it’s wistful at best. suffocated by a thick sense of loneliness.

wonpil wonders if he’s too presumptuous and dives back into his meal, about to comment and thank brian when he says:

“it’s more than enough.”

something curls tight in wonpil’s chest. is there anything he can do to make sure brian never shows such an expression again? his nails dig into the palm of his hand.

in that moment he allows himself to listen to instinct. a hand reaching out, fingers that sweep bangs aside, and caresses brian’s forehead. brian leans forward to meet him halfway as if seeking for salvation — absolution in a confessional, pardoned by the hands serving god.

the hands that wrap around wonpil’s are calloused and rough but ultimately warm. “thank you, wonpil.”

those words make it easier to breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the origin of the name i chose for brian's identity comes from [this site](https://japanesemythology.wordpress.com/slavic-mythology-hors-dazbog-solar-deity-and-wolf-deity-or-lame-wolf-shepherdwho-rules-the-underworld/). he's just a full fluffy wolf whenever he transforms.
> 
> idk if updates will happen. i only have plot planned up to what happens in the first chapter *sweats*

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from **honesty** by pink sweat$ ( [young k cover](http://usedfurniturereview.com/2012/05/09/five-poems-by-buddy-wakefield/) )


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